He Who Would Be King
by soulthief2
Summary: The history of Azeroth is filled with the tales of heroes, men and women whose feats have granted them passage into the annals of history, legends in their own right. This is one such story…


He Who Would Be King

The history of Azeroth is filled with the tales of heroes, men and women whose feats have granted them passage into the annals of history, legends in their own right. This is one such story…

 **A/N: So, it's been years since I've written anything. A number of factors have contributed to this; I went to college and was working full time, then I joined the Navy, and that ate pretty much all of my free time up, so what little I had was spent reading rather than actually writing anything. However, with the upcoming release of Battle For Azeroth, I figured, why the hell not try again? I can pretty much guarantee I won't pick up any of my old stories, so for those that wish to, they can take them over.**

 **Anyways, this story is essentially a novelization of a World of Warcraft character, one of my own creation. I won't confirm or deny whether or not he is actually a toon of mine.**

 **Pairings for this story: Harem, a good portion of whom will be OC's. I plan for it to be raid-party sized, but each character will be a fleshed-out individual, with a build-up towards the romance. One of the things I hate the most about lengthy stories (and I do intend on making this a lengthy one) is situations where the two M/C's see each other and it's like "OMG, love at first sight! We should get married and make babies!" and the rest of the story is slice-of-life B/S that I can't stand. That won't happen here, and if it does, I invite you the readers to call me out on it.**

 **So, without further ado, on with the story:**

Chapter 1

Birth of…

The earliest memory Trey had was of the forest.

Trees that reached towards the clouds, varying in their types. The ancient ones, with trunks that were meters across, to the barely-matured ones, whose branches could barely support the fruit that they bore. Warm sunlight shone through wherever it could through the thick canopies of the trees.

When the breeze blew through the forest, it carried with it the scents of wilderness, the soft, peaty smell of the forest floor, the subtle wisps of the pollen and blooming flowers, mixed with the sharper tones of the evergreens.

It was nearly silent, the only sounds being the scratches and steps of the various small critters that surrounded the farm owned by his family. This was punctuated by the babbling of the nearby brook, from which his family drew the water that sustained both them and their crops.

Like most of the population of Elwynn, Trey and his parents were farmers.

His father, Gregory, had formerly been a soldier in Lordaeron's army, and had been witness to the horrors that had befallen that nation. He refused to speak of it, only to acknowledge his service to the fallen kingdom, while toying with the ornate ring that adorned his right hand, staring forlornly at his old cloak, a rich piece of fabric embroidered in the gold and blue of his former home. Below where the cloak hung was a trunk, that for as long as he could remember, Trey had never seen his father open.

Gregory was a man who was approaching his middle years, but one would never have thought so just by looking at him.

Physically, he was imposing, his arms and torso still corded with the muscle that had been built from his time in the Army, and he stood over two meters tall, forcing him to duck whenever he entered most establishments. However, it was his face that aged him.

Deep lines like canyons creased his brow and the bridge of his nose, crow's feet accenting his eyes, which had been blue when he was younger, but now were like slate. Black hair hung to his shoulders, when it wasn't fastened back with a thin piece of leather. Long gone were any indications of mirth, instead his face seemed as if it were permanently frowning. Not that he never smiled, but it seemed as if he struggled more to do so than he did to maintain his default expression.

The man was quiet, and firm. Never had Trey known him to raise his voice, instead, the way he spoke would bite at you, forcing you to acknowledge whatever failure you had committed. He had never raised his hand towards Trey, and had never had reason to, his words had been motivation enough.

His mother on the other hand was a vibrant soul, bursting with energy and cheer. Marie was much smaller than her husband, barely reaching to the man's chest, but she claimed it only made it better when she hugged him.

Her hair was a golden yellow, and flowed freely, framing her face like a halo. Blue eyes sparkled with mischief and mirth, and, unlike her husband, she was always smiling and laughing.

Prior to them moving to Stormwind, she had been a tutor to the children of the nobles of Lordaeron, so, whenever he wasn't out in the fields helping his father, he was studying with his mother, being educated in maths, geography, languages and the like. At 14, he was fluent in Common, Darnassian, and Dwarvish, while, interestingly enough, passable in Thalassian and Orcish. The last two had been a surprise to him, as they were the native languages to races that belonged to the Horde, the enemies of the Alliance of which the humans were a part o, but his Mother insisted, stating that "You never know when the most obscure or useless skill could come in handy".

The difference in the personalities of his parents confused Trey; he had no idea how two people with such different personalities could possible love each other. When he had asked his mother this, the answer he got was not what he had expected.

She was at the wash basin, cleaning the dirt from some potatoes that were to go into the stew for that night's dinner. In front of her was a window that overlooked the farm, and the distant figure of his father toiling away, digging the harvest of vegetables from the soil. A small, sad smile came across her face, and she set the potato down, turning her body so she was half facing him, and the other half allowing her to continue to look outside the window.

"Your father was not always like this, you know. When I first met him, years ago, he had just joined the Army, and was on leave with some of his friends. All of them, cheering and joking, and generally being a pain to anyone who had to put up with them. He intrigued me, and we started speaking. After a few days, his leave was over and he had to go back to his unit. We continued to write each other."

There was a slight pause, before she continued, "as we wrote, I found myself falling in love with him, his cheer, and of course, he was always able to make me laugh. Whenever he took leave, he would always stop by and we would go for walks, or picnics in the park. After about 5 years or so, we married."

Her eyes seemed to go distant.

"And then the Scourge came, and with it, the Betrayal of Arthas. I know your father never speaks of it, and you are never to repeat any of this near him, but that war, it changed him. Friends he had bled for, and who had bled for him, fell to the plague, becoming monstrous ghouls. And he was forced to cut them down himself."

"His unit was completely wiped out, all of them, except for himself and a few others. But that wasn't even the worst part."

She paused again, but now her eyes were shut, and tears leaked out. "After all of that, he had been assigned to Arthas' unit, due to his experience in fighting the undead, and then was forced to take part in the Culling of Stratholme."

She turned to look at him, the sadness and empathy in her eyes was almost like a physical blow to him.

"Your father left after that. He showed up at our door, soaked to the bone through his armor, looking as though someone had told him he had just damned his soul. That very night, we left Lordaeron, a good thing, too, as a few months later, Arthas the Betrayer became the Lich King, and the Fall of Lordaeron began."

"What he was forced to do in that war haunts him still, there are nights where I can barely sleep because I hear him crying out from his nightmares. You are too young to understand right now, but war changes people. They see and do things that under normal circumstances no one should ever have to do, with no choice in the matter. The Scourge only made it worse; friends and comrades cut down, only to rise again and attack you, men who just last night you were joking with were now trying to rip your throat out with their teeth, as the skin and muscle falls from their bones."

She reached out, cupping his face, wiping his cheek free of the tears he didn't even know were falling. "You asked me how two people so very different from each other could love one another? I smile and laugh because your father has had enough pain in his life, it's all I can do to support him. The day you were born was the last time I saw him truly smile. It's not something I can explain, but I love him, and my heart breaks for what he has had to go through."

Trey never asked about it ever again, and he never mentioned it to his father.

timeskip

At 16, Trey was already taller than most boys his age, and it was evident that he would be just as big or bigger than his father.

The face that stared back at him when he washed his face was angular, the beginnings of a dark stubble evident of his entry into manhood. His jaw was firm and wide, pointed by a strong chin. His dark blond hair was cropped short to keep it out of his face while working. His skin was bronzed from long hours in the sun, and he was well-muscled for his age, earned through hard work on the farm.

Shaking the excess water from his hands, he wiped them on his tunic, before making his way outside to join his father.

The farm itself was small, just enough for the family to feed themselves, and make some coin selling the rest. His father was always the one to do that, as it involved making the long trip to Goldshire, something he did not feel Trey was old enough for.

The field was four acres square, with a variety of crops ranging from potatoes to beans and peppers. A small wooden fence, waist high, was set up around the perimeter to keep wolves out. Chickens roamed freely, pecking at the ground, hoping to find some leftover feed they might have missed. Parallel to the field was the river, a small, lazy thing, that barely bubbled. From it they got their water and all the fish they could catch.

The house was small as well, a single story wooden structure with a tiled roof and just 4 rooms; two bedrooms for his parents and himself, a common area/kitchen, and a cellar where they stored the food that they would use for the winter.

The only true luxury they had was where his father currently was; a cart, three meters long and a meter and a half wide, strapped to their horse, Percy.

As he walked out, his father turned to him, "Finished, boy? Help me load the cart then. If I can leave early enough, I'll be back from Goldshire before dark."

Trey nodded, and made his way to the bundles of produce that lay next to the cart.

They worked together in silence, and in hardly any time, the cart was fully loaded, the goods covered with an oiled leather sheet to keep insects and the weather from ruining the crops.

Trey rolled his head from side to side, working out the stiffness that had built up in his neck and shoulders from the labor.

With a small grunt, his father heaved himself up onto the seat of the cart, grasping Percy's reins tightly. Just before he took off though, he looked down at Trey, and seemed to frown slightly. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

"Alright boy, I suppose it's about time that you see something of the outside world. Go let your mother know you'll be coming with me."

It took Trey a few seconds to comprehend what his father said, before he quickly followed through.

HWWBK

For someone experienced in the world, the road to Goldshire was simple, even boring. But Trey had seen nothing but the farm where he lived, and so he wondered at every little thing that was different, whether it was a type of tree he had not seen before, or to his astonishment, other buildings, having passed by other farms and even a stone tower that rose over the tree tops off of the side of the road.

As they neared Goldshire, the forest began to thin, and he was able to make out a small town in the distance, the sounds of hammers hitting anvils and muted conversations filling the air, while ropes of smoke lifted up from the various chimneys of the buildings.

"Trey," his father's voice interrupted his wonder, "So you know, Goldshire is somewhat of a rough place. The townsfolk are nice enough, but there's enough traffic through here that you'll occasionally get a few people who are looking for a fight. Just keep your head down, and stick close to me, and you should be fine."

Trey nodded, then turned back towards the town. Now that it was closer, he could make out the odd house on the outskirts, and then towards the center of town, a large inn which dominated the area, and a large stone structure from which thick plumes of smoke and the loud clanging of hammers sounded.

But that was nothing compared to the people.

His entire life, the only other races he had seen had been humans, but Goldshire held races he had only read about: the stocky, bearded dwarves, some of whom walked about in thick plate armor, night elves, tall statuesque and fair, their eyes glowing a faint white (he blushed when he noticed that the females were VERY attractive), while few and far between, there were gnomes as well, more than one of whom looked to be tinkering with some contraption, the mysterious and alien Draenei, walking around on cloven hooves, and then finally the Worgen, though few, standing tall and imposing, their fangs and claws looking razor sharp.

Interspersed around all of those people were Stormwind guards, their matching plate armor gleaming in the sun. On the other side of the town, he could see a patrol of cavalry passing by, their lances held perfectly vertical, waving pennants in the air.

The cart pulled up next to the inn, and the two of them both jumped down. Just as his father finished tying Percy to a nearby railing, a large man came out of the front door, an apron tied around his waist "Gregory! It's been ages! How are you, mate?"

"Good, Tom. I've brought some more goods for you, I know those adventurers tend to eat your pantry dry."

The man, Tom, chuckled, and clasped his father by the forearm, before pulling him in and clapping him on the back in a manly hug. "Too right! The bastards hardly leave me anything for myself and the staff!"

They separated, and Tom seemed to finally notice Trey.

"Is this your boy, then? By the Light, he's almost as big as you!"

Gregory nodded once, "Yes. Trey, this is Tom, he works at the Inn here, and usually the one I offload our goods too. Tom, this is Trey, he's sixteen now, so I figured it would be a good time for him to start seeing some of the outside world."

Tom chuckled, "16, eh? About time the boy got out, he needs some worldly experience if he ever moves away from that farm of yours; despite how he looks, he's got that 'lost lamb' feeling about him."

The man's assessment of him slightly rankled Trey, but he couldn't really protest it, given that it was true.

Gregory grunted in acknowledgement, but made no comment. Instead, he turned towards Trey, "I've got to talk business, but I will be close, why don't you take a look around, but remember; be careful."

"Yes father."

And with that, Trey all but ran off.

HWWBK

Goldshire was indeed small, and it didn't take him long to have seen most of it. Rather than a small town like he had first thought, Goldshire was rather a trading post, a quick stop for most people as they made their way towards wherever they were going. And so, very few people actually lived here, and the majority of the buildings were dedicated to providing goods and services to those passing through.

He had seen his first gryphon though, at the local flight station. The majestic beasts were resting, laying in massive elevated beds of hay, their glossy feathers well-trimmed. He had stared fascinated until the flight master had curtly asked him if he was just going to stand there like an idiot, or was he going to actually hire one?

Instead, he walked off, and in doing so, was witness to the reason why his father said that Goldshire could be a rough place.

Two people, one a male in leather armor with twin daggers sheathed at his hips, bumped into a night elf male dressed in an expensive-looking suit of mail.

The night elf immediately took it as an insult and demanded an apology, yet the human gave none. With hardly any forewarning, the night elf lashed out with an armored fist.

The human _flowed_ around the fist, still looking bored, and lashed out with a punch of his own, striking the night elf in the ribs, where his mail failed to protect him. There was a brief exhale, but the night elf didn't go down, instead throwing punches left and right.

The human continued to dodge, the expression on his face never changing, until with one punch, the night elf overextended himself.

The human ducked low, his fist tucked tight into his side, before shooting it forward into a perfect uppercut.

A loud _crack_ came from the night elf's jaw, and he collapsed like a marionette that had its strings cut.

Seeing as the fight was over, the crowd, which had gathered to view it, dispersed, their entertainment finished. The human didn't even bother looking at the night elf laying in the mud as he continued on his way.

Trey was impressed with how quickly the man took down the night elf, especially since the elf was wearing mail armor. Then again, the night elf did give off that 'rich snob' vibe, so maybe the armor was just something mommy and daddy had gotten him?

Regardless, he continued wandering around until he finally ended up back at the inn. Seeing as his father was still engaged in negotiating a price for their goods, he instead looked to his left at the building from which hammers hitting anvils could be heard.

Curious, he walked inside.

Immediately, he was blasted with a wave of heat, the temperature differing greatly from that outside. The interior was well lit, shadows dancing across walls and people from the flames that lit massive furnaces. The air smelled of ozone and coal, and his ears rang from the sounds of metal striking metal.

Closest to him was a man in his early 20's, who was working some kind of sword, the blade white-hot from the furnace. Every hammer blow, sparks flew from the blade, and he could see the metal flatten, more closely resembling the tool it was to become.

He continued to watch, fascinated, as the man hammered away, pausing only to place the blade back in the furnace when it started to cool down.

The man at some point had noticed him, but didn't say anything and continued to work. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man held the now-orange blade with a pair of tongs, before placing the entire thing in a trough of water, steam immediately hissing forth.

Letting it sit there, the man turned to Trey, "Can I help you lad?"

Trey started, before laughing nervously, "I'm sorry, I didn't man to intrude, I was just curious, is all."

The man grunted, "First time seeing a blade being forged?"

Trey nodded.

The man eyed him up and down, before seemingly coming to a decision. "Want to give it a try?"

"Really?"

He nodded, "The latest shipments from the Fargodeep mine have been pretty fruitful, so I've got some extra ore I need to get rid of. I can show you how to make a copper dagger if you'd like."

"Yes, please!"

The man then showed him to the ore that he had mentioned, its color a dull brown due to the impurities that resided in it. They then placed the ore in a separate furnace, the mouth of which ended in a funnel which poured into a brick-shaped mold.

He learned of the way of smelting, as the melting of the ore into an ingot was called, and how keeping the furnace at a specific temperature was crucial so as to not compromise the integrity of the metal. The result was a single, unblemished ingot of copper.

They then got to work on the actual smithing of the copper into a dagger, forming the blade and pommel into a knife that was roughly a foot in length. The grip was just long enough that it could be held in one hand, and was finished by wrapping it in some spare leather. All in all, the finished product was a rude, but serviceable, copper dagger.

The man hummed as he held the blade. "Not bad, you definitely have talent. You just need some more practice."

He flipped the knife around to grip it by its sheath, presenting the grip to him. "Keep it, and next time you're in Goldshire, I'll teach you to smith something else. Sound good?"

Trey took it, reverently tucking his dagger, _his!_ , into his belt. "Absolutely. But, I never got your name."

The man smiled, "Smith Argus, lad."

( **A/N: I know I have over simplified and shortened the process for smithing, but I needed to in order to more closely represent what it is like in-game. This should be the last time I go into this sort of detail in regards to this, so it should be less important)**

HWWBK

With his father finished selling the produce, the two of them hopped back in the cart and made their way back towards their farm. It didn't take long before his father noticed the knife at his belt.

"Where did you get that?"

Immediately, Trey began to get nervous, afraid that his father would take it from him, but he also knew better than to lie to the man.

"I made it. While I was out exploring, I found the blacksmith. I saw him making a sword, and when he saw how interested I was, offered to teach me how to make this."

Gregory pierced his son with a hard look, before handing him the reins. "Let me see it."

Heart sinking, Trey took the reins in one hand and with the other pulled the knife from his belt and handed it to his father hilt first.

However, his father surprised him when, instead of confiscating, or, as he feared more, simply tossing the knife, he instead unsheathed it, inspecting it with calculating eyes.

He took a few minutes, silently evaluating it, at one point even spinning the knife in and around his hand, ( **Think Riddick from Chronicles of Riddick)** judging the weight.

Finally finished, he returned the knife to the sheath and pulled the reins from Trey's nerveless fingers.

There was silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"I have another trip planned in a few days' time. I expect to see you up early that day to join me."

Trey's face split into a huge grin, and he shoved the knife back into his belt.

Time Skip

Trey wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at his latest creation.

Two years had passed since he had gone on that first trip with his father to Goldshire, and time had indeed been kind to the now young man.

He had continued to learn from Argus the skills of working with metal, and, as a result of the constant physical labor that came with it, his arms were now thickly muscled, connected to a chest and abdomen that was just as heavily formed.

His skills had also improved, now able to form Bronze weapons and armor of a quality that was good enough for Argus to sell in his shop.

Most of the Blacksmith's income came from commissions, but it was still gratifying to know that his mentor had enough confidence in his abilities to openly sell his products.

Despite being able to now craft bronze, the little dagger that had started all of this was still tucked into his waist, a reminder of where he had started from. It was more sentimental now than anything else, as trying to use the copper blade on even bronze would have been laughable.

Untying the blacksmith's apron from around his waist, he lifted it over his head and hung it on a peg on the wall, before picking up the shield he had just finished and carrying it to the front of the smithy.

Argus was still there, apparently negotiating with a customer on the price of an iron two-hander.

Setting the shield on the counter, he clapped the man on his shoulder. "Here's the shield Argus. I've got to get going now, father should be just about done by now."

Argus nodded before turning back to the customer, a rather put-out looking Worgen.

Stepping out into the main square of Goldshire, Trey let the cooler temperature and slight breeze cool off the sweat from his arms and head. He stood still, tilting his head back and just enjoying the feeling, until he was jostled hard enough that he almost fell to the ground.

He snapped his head back down to glare at whoever it was that had bumped him, but immediately regretted it when he found himself looking straight at Faron Lester.

As bad a reputation as Goldshire had for random fights breaking out, Faron Lester only made it worse. Many considered the man barely above a rabid dog. He would pick a fight with anyone, and oftentimes win, mostly due to fighting dirty. There was even talk of associations with the gang of cutpurses and thieves that resided deeper in the forest.

His stringy brown hair hung to his shoulders, looking as if it hadn't been cleaned in ages. The entire man smelled sour, and dirt caked his unwashed skin. He was, to put it simply, revolting.

Still, he was a person that Trey didn't want to deal with, and with a hastily-given apology, maneuvered around him, wincing as he caught a whiff of the man's scent. He hadn't made it even three steps before a hand caught his arm, spinning him around.

Faron leered at him, showing a mouthful of discolored and misshapen teeth. "Ya nearly knock ma' doon an da best ya can do is say soory?" his accent was thick, and almost indecipherable.

Trey wasn't quite sure what the man was looking for. Despite having been visiting the trading post regularly for two years, he was still quite a novice when it came to some of the more esoteric members of its population.

"Uh…"

Faron growled savagely, "How aboot all ah yoor coin? That might fix da injuries tah ma person."

Trey's visage darkened considerably. Working for Argus, ever since he had been good enough to start putting what he made on the shelfs, he had gotten a small commission with each sale, and so had accumulated quite a few silver.

He was about to brush the man off when a heavy hand clapped itself to Faron's shoulder, causing the man's knees to buckle.

"I don't think the boy is worth the trouble Faron, now go off before you embarrass yourself again." The hand belonged to his father, a man who barely looked his age, save for the silver bands beginning to show at his temples. As a result, he still cut quite an intimidating figure.

Faron began to snarl something, but whatever it was turned into a whimper, as Gregory squeezed his shoulder in an iron grip.

"alrigh', alrigh', ah'll leave 'im alone!"

Immediately, his father let go, but not before giving Faron a slight shove, sending the disgusting man into the mud.

His father snorted at him, before he turned and headed off, Trey just behind him.

As a result, neither of them saw the absolutely murderous look on Faron's face.

HWWBK

The farm had not changed at all in two years, with the exception of a small pasture, where three cows grazed. They had been purchased with some of the money that Trey had earned, as a means to supplement some of what they could sell at market.

His mother stepped out of the house as they pulled to a stop. Just like his father, she had changed very little, save for some silver strands of hair, and the minute forming of crow's feet around her eyes. A huge smile was on her face as she saw them, walking up to give a large hug and a kiss to her husband.

"You boys are just in time. There's a roast on the spit that's just about done, as well as a salad and some mead."

She hugged Trey as well, though the image of such a tiny woman hugging someone as massive as he was was comical. He returned it warmly though, and he and his father followed her into the house.

Dinner was indeed quite good, though, like usual, Trey and his mother were the ones that did most of the talking. She took the opportunity to have him practice the languages he had learned. He had finally gotten Thalassian down, though he was weak on the writing, and his Orcish…well, as his mother said, he knew enough to get himself out of trouble. Or, more likely, into trouble.

As dinner came to a close, Trey was putting the dishes in the wash basin when there was a large crash outside.

Curious, he turned to his father, whose brow was furrowed. The man looked unusually concerned, and was once again fiddling with the ring on his right hand.

"Father?"

Trey's question seemed to jerk him from whatever musings he was having, and he turned to look at his wife. She smiled sadly back at him, and grabbed his left hand with both of hers, squeezing before letting go.

Gregory nodded once, before turning back to Trey. "Lad, head into our room. Underneath the dresser in there is a key; bring it here."

Confused, Trey did as he was told, bringing the bronze key he found underneath his parents' dresser to his father.

As he walked into the common room, he was shocked to find his father standing there, his Army cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

"Father, what is going on?"

He said nothing, instead taking the key from Trey and unlocking the chest that he had never before seen opened. With the lid lifted, he was shocked to see a gleaming steel sword laying inside, in an elaborately decorated sheath, gold filigree crawling up over a background of blue, and embossed Lordaeron sigil in the middle of it.

His father took the sword, buckling it around his waist, then reached in to grab much shorter sword, handing it to her mother.

Finally, he turned to his son. "The farm is surrounded, bandits, it seems like. There are no patrols near here at this time, so we will have to defend ourselves."

Trey was still confused, _bandits, how?_. "Trey."

His father calling him by his name shocked him. His father _never_ called him by his name. "Trey, you need to know, if something happens to your mother and myself, you need to head back to Goldshire, as fast as you can. Look for Tom, he will be able to help you. Take my cloak and ring with you. Sword too, if you can."

His father's defeatist words scared him, "Father…wha…"

His father's heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, but he still stood strong, and his father's slate eyes bored into his. "Son, you can never guarantee anything in battle, especially when the people you are fighting play dirty. Always try to have a plan for every eventuality. That way, all you have to do is worry about what you can't plan for."

He was still confused, and turned to his mother, hoping she would provide some clarity, but there was nothing there other than tears as she looked at him.

He turned his attention back to his father, who removed his hand and drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the light from the fire. "There's about 20 of them, lightly armed. I know you haven't done this before son, but I need you to focus. You're scared, use it. Channel that fear into action."

Trey shook himself violently, trying to do as his father said, but he could feel the grip of his fear on his heart and in his gut, clawing at him. Shakily, he drew his knife, that plain copper dagger that was the first thing he had made.

All together, they stepped outside, where the farm was bathed in the orang light of a setting sun. At first there didn't appear to be anything wrong, and Trey began to sigh in relief, before a silver flash appeared from the bushes, and a knife flew the air at him.

Crying out, he threw himself to the side, looking back and seeing the dagger had imbedded itself in the wall right where his head had been.

Out of the bush where the knife had come from, was a person who made him snarl.

Faron Lester swaggered into the light, the sneer on his face only making his face that much more unpleasant to look at. "Ah toold yah, yoo shoulda given me da money."

Suddenly, three other bandits came out of the bushes, charging his father.

Gregory bellowed, and went to meet them, deflecting the knife of the first one off to the side, before coming back on the return swing and cutting the man open from hip to shoulder. The man barely gurgled before collapsing, tripping the one behind him, who was promptly run through.

The third, seeing Gregory's blade stuck, attempted to attack, but was stopped when his mother sliced his hand off, before coming around and cutting him across the throat.

At his baffled look, his mother just smiled, "Please dear, you didn't think nobles would put their children in the care of someone who wouldn't be able to protect them, did you?"

He had no response, but even if he did, was given to opportunity to say it, as, at that time, more bandits came crashing out of the bushes.

His parents were like a stone wall, his father cutting down the bandits with ruthless efficiency, his mother following up behind him, catching what few made it past her husband. They were like two partners in a dance of death, both complementing and supporting each other.

Even as they were doing so though, they were still human, and not as young as they used to be. He could see sweat pouring down his father's face, and the way his mother was panting for breath. It was only a matter of time until one of them faltered.

It was his mother first, she was slightly slow in blocking a knife thrust, and so the edge had caught her in her upper arm, causing her to gasp.

Ice filled Trey, and, without thinking, he charged the man that had cut her, his knife held out in front of him.

The next thing he knew was the feeling of the point of his knife entering the man, and the feeling of warm blood wash over his hands. The man cried out in agony, bringing his elbow down and breaking Trey's hold on his dagger, swiping down with his own weapon.

Trey snapped his head back, trying to put some distance between it and the knife, but wasn't quite fast enough. The tip of the man's knife caught him just above his right eye and continued downward, thankfully missing his eye.

Pain greater than anything he had ever experienced exploded in his head, and he screamed, clutching at his face as the blood from his wound already obscured his vision.

With his left eye unhindered, he was able to see his mother finish off the man he had stabbed, then turn towards him. That was a mistake.

Light-headed from the shock and blood loss, he viewed as if it were a dream his mother making her way towards him before suddenly a blade burst from the front of her dress. Immediately the light blue fabric soaked through with blood, and she cried out, before dropping to her knees, just within arm's reach of her son, her dagger falling right beside him.

An incomprehensible rage filled him, and, leaving his wound, grabbed his mother's dagger and plunged it deeply into the chest of the woman who had killed his mother. As the bandit fell, he turned back to his mother, pulling her into his arms, uncaring of the blood that soaked his tunic.

"My boy…my beautiful boy…" Her voice was so weak, and sounded so distant, so much different from her usual musical laughter and rich soprano that it had him sobbing, his own wound forgotten.

A hand reached up to brush his hair, before falling lifelessly to the ground. An anguished cry ripped from his throat.

"MARIE!"

His father's own shout was like a wounded animal, and the man seemed to be possessed as he tried to cut his way through the remainder of bandits.

Trey sobbed, holding his mother's body, before he looked up, seeing the madly grinning face of Faron. A surge of adrenaline filled him, and, grabbing his and his mother's daggers from the bandit's corpse, charged the man, intent on wiping that smirk from his face.

His first strikes were parried, and reciprocated, the man's cuts opening long gashes on his chest and arms, but Trey was too far gone to realize the pain and continued to wildly stab at the man.

Yet still more wounds followed, until he could feel the loss of blood beginning to overtake his surge of adrenaline. But then, he noticed as Faron's right arm went slightly wide on one strike and putting all of his energy into the one strike, lunged forward, sinking his mother's dagger deep into the man's chest.

Faron stilled, looking down at his chest where the knife was plunged to the hilt. He the looked back up, as blood began to spill from his mouth. Finally he fell, face-down into a puddle of his own blood.

As his energy faded, Trey began to feel the effects of his wounds, the cut on his face now more of a strong throbbing, but the numerous cuts he had received from Faron stinging him like beestings.

Turning, he found his father, surrounded by the corpses of the bandits he had slain, laying next to his mother, his sword laying next to him. Weakly,he stumbled his way towards his parents, growing more and more lightheaded as he did, before he finally collapsed face-first.

The last thing he remembered was his hand landing on something hard.

 **A/N: Well, there you go. I apologize for being somewhat all over the place, but this chapter was more of an introduction to the character Trey and his history. The story will start to take off next chapter. Hopefully things don't feel too rushed, forced, or awkward, like I said, it's been years since I've written anything so I am extremely out of practice. Anyways, please let me know what you think!**


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